Tread Softly
by LaurieQ
Summary: Joe, and some very complicated soup, offer an apology to an injured Frank This story was originally published in 2009 elsewhere and needs a new home. Hopefully it can still make someone smile.


Tread Softly

Joe slipped his convertible into park, pocketing the keys as he stepped onto his brother's driveway. Frank's car was no doubt in the garage; Callie's was nowhere to be seen. Ah, Saturday morning without the sister-in-law. He laughed softly to himself. That really wasn't fair. The occasional jealous pangs of their teenage years were over and he had a great relationship with Callie, but it had been too long since he and Frank had enjoyed a day off together. The time they spent working wasn't the same thing.

He stopped to note a few new shrubs, knowing that was more likely Callie's idea than Frank's, and then ambled up the walk. _Hydrangeas? Quince? Ness would know…_

It wasn't going to be morning a whole lot longer if he didn't get in there. He'd brought baseball tickets with him, a thank you to Frank for letting him off the hook of one very dull stakeout last night. He grinned when he realized he was whistling. Yup, the night he'd had instead had been that good.

The porch entrance took him past the picture window. Frank was sprawled on the couch, asleep. Not a typical activity for his brother at eleven am, but maybe the surveillance last night ran longer than expected. Joe hoped not, photographing for a worker's comp case was boring at best, particularly if your partner bailed on you to go to a play with his girlfriend.

Still, Joe and Vanessa had purchased the theater tickets and made dinner reservations in the city months ago and the case came up at the last minute. Joe had offered to cancel and had even tried to get Sam to sub in for him, but after ten uneventful hours in a cramped car, he supposed he'd done more whining about the ruined evening than he thought. He was guiltily relieved when Frank shooed him out in time to make the curtain, goofy comment about not doing anything I wouldn't do trailing after him. The play might not have been completely up Joe's alley, but Vanessa loved it. By the time they finally drifted to sleep around four AM, she'd made that perfectly clear.

Joe started to knock, then smiled and let himself in with his spare key, figuring he may as well let his brother sleep a bit more. If they ate sandwiches here, they could wait another hour before leaving for the game and still have plenty of time. Maybe Joe would even risk entry into a kitchen and make the food himself.

The spring in his step died the minute he stepped into the living room. Frank's right leg was propped on a mound of pillows, ace wrap around the bare foot and ankle, swollen knee loosely covered with an ice pack, while the telltale cord of a heating pad trailed out from below a shoulder. The side of his face bore a faint scrape, evolving into a full scale bruise as it trailed to his collarbone.

 _Oh no… I left him, and … what? What the heck happened? He said he was only staying another hour, snap another few photos. Nothing about this case was supposed to be dangerous. Yeah right, 'cause they never are. That's why you're supposed to have a partner. One that doesn't abandon you…._

"Frank?" Joe knelt by the sofa, gently tapping the unmarked shoulder. "Hey. Frank, can you wake up for me?"

"Ummppff." Frank's eyes stayed closed, the grunt his only sign of awareness.

"Frank? Come on man. Frank?"

"Callie?"

Joe couldn't help the soft snort. "Not hardly. Wake up, ok?"

The brown eyes flickered, slowly focusing on the face looming above him. "Joe?"

"Yeah, it's Joe. You ok?"

"Been better." Frank seemed to consider that a minute, his thought process painfully slow. "Been worse, too."

"What happened?"

"It's all bumps and sprains, Joe, nothing that won't.."

"Because you were fine when I left. I never should have gone to that play and…"

"Joe, this isn't because…"

"…I'm so sorry Frank. I know better than to leave a stakeout, but it seemed so routine and…"

"Joe, you didn't…"

"I wanted to make a special night for Ness, and I know that isn't much of an excuse when you ended up hurt. I'm sorry and…"

"Joe…"

"…I won't do it again. This is completely my fault. I didn't think those fellas were much of a threat and then to walk in here and see you like this... Well I guess maybe I didn't think period…"

"Joe.."

"How bad are you hurt? And where's Callie? Does she know you're like this? Dad's gonna have my head after…"

"Joe…"

"…he finds out that I took off on you. Frank, I…"

"Joe…"

Frank let his eyes fall closed again, not having the energy to continue to interrupt his sibling. It wasn't working anyway. Eventually, Joe would notice Frank wasn't imminently dying and his worry would settle down. Then, it might..maybe…be possible to talk to him.

"…as soon as she gets home, I'm calling Sam and we'll…"

Frank tried to sit up a little, realizing he'd drifted off a moment and wondering if Joe had stopped talking at all. Probably not. He swayed before making it upright.

That movement caught Joe's attention. "Whoa, Frank, where are you trying to go? Should you be up?"

"Kitchen, and yes." Frank started to fill Joe in, then decided water was in order first. His absently rolled his shoulders, left hand rubbing at a kink in the right one. "I'm fine; I'm going to get a drink."

"Um-hmm, 'cause you look fine. Stay put and I'll get it. Do you want water, or something else? There's soda in there I know; I saw that yesterday. Or I can make some ice tea?"

"You want to make tea?"

"Yes. Or well, no, not particularly, but whatever you want. Do you feel like eating? I can bring everything in here so you don't have to get up. I can't believe this happened…"

"Plain water's fine. Joe…"

"No, really, I'll bring it in here. I bought us tickets for the ballgame, sort of a thank you for last night. Looks like I owe you a lot more than a few innings and a hotdog, though. I'm sorry, bro, if I'd had any idea…" Joe trailed off uncertainly, still wrestling with nearly getting his brother killed. Okay, so it wasn't quite that bad, but that may have been pure dumb luck.

"Joe, about the…"

"Hang on, let me get the water."

Frank rolled his eyes in exasperation, his sentence curtailed yet again as Joe retreated into the kitchen. A glass was thrust under his chin the second his sibling reappeared.

"I'll make this up to you, promise."

"There's nothing to make…"

"Yes, Frank, there is. I shouldn't have left." Joe resumed readjusting the cushions on the sofa.

"I don't see where that would have mattered, but I give up…" The muttered comment was barely audible and went as ignored as everything else he'd tried to say. Frank raised his voice a notch. "Maybe I would like that tea."

"What? Oh, sure, I'll get it. There's a pitcher in your fridge."

 _Now he listens… hmm…_ "Actually, would you mind starting some fresh? Callie has a canister under the microwave. It takes a few hours to chill, but it tastes better."

"Sure, no problem."

Frank waited until his brother made it into the kitchen _. Maybe next time he'll let me talk from the start…_

"Oh, and can I have my book off the nightstand upstairs? My knee's not really up to climbing if I don't have to."

"Uh, yeah, let me get this water on and then I'll grab it."

"Okay." Frank worked as much wheedling disappointment into the single word as he could. "Although I could be reading while you're in the kitchen…"

"Right." Joe re-entered the living room, crossing to the corner stair. A moment later, he placed the novel in Frank's hand and went back into the kitchen.

As soon as the tap turned on, Frank called to him again. "Joe? I'm not in the mood to read and I can't reach the remote."

Joe sighed and put the kettle aside. "Be right there."

The remote crisis resolved, Joe made his third attempt to start brewing tea.

"Maybe I'll read after all. Can you turn on the light?"

 _It's so bright in there now you need sunglasses…_ Joe returned to the foyer, flipping the wall switch, before going back to the stove.

"Joe? Is there any blackberry jam left in the refrigerator?"

After a brief foray through a relentlessly organized fridge, Joe answered. "Half a jar. Do you feel like eating? Plain toast might be better to start off with, you know."

"No, I'm not hungry, thanks."

 _Then why did he ask me…Never mind, maybe he hit his head…_

"Unless there's that gumbo soup of Callie's. Do you know how to make that?"

Joe was glad he had the kitchen wall to hide his expression. Still, Frank was hurt and it was entirely his fault. And it wasn't like Frank to ask for anything, even at the times he'd been seriously injured. _What if he really did hit his head?…I should have never left him…._ "No, can't say that I know how to make gumbo soup. How about some chicken noodle?"

"Noodle? Well, I guess I could eat that… No, think I'll pass. The gumbo just sounded good, but I don't have to eat yet. Maybe Callie will make some in a few days, or next week or… Her recipe box is beside the stove if you could… no, never mind, Joe, it's an awful lot of trouble. It's on one of those index cards somewhere."

 _Course it is…_

 _*aldp aldp aldp*_

"What on earth?" Callie dropped her shopping bag beside the kitchen door thirty minutes later. The sounds of televised basketball drifted from the front room, which was no surprise, given her husband's current couch jockey status. What was a bit of a shock was the state of her kitchen.

Randomly scattered pots dotted the counter, interspersed with partially chopped fresh vegetables, while a frying pan of browning chicken scorched on the stove. In the midst of the disaster, a flour dusted version of her brother-in-law was peering at a handful of something, apparently debating whether it was okra. "Joseph Hardy, I can see where Vanessa wouldn't let you do this at home, but what have you done to my house?!"

"Sorry, Callie. Frank wanted the gumbo soup, so I tried to get it started, but I swear I think there were less steps to the D-Day invasion and, well, I…is this or is it not, okra?"

Callie smiled in spite of herself. "It is. Why don't you work on clean up and I'll take over the soup? Let me check on the walking wounded and I'll be right back. I wouldn't have gone out at all with him like this, but we were out of ibuprofen and Frank wanted a replacement stair tread."

"Thanks, Cal. You're not mad at me?"

She raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "No. Should I be?"

 _He didn't tell her. I hang him out to dry and he still covers for me, and here I am grousing over stewing a little soup…_

"Uh, maybe. Look, I already apologized to Frank about last night and when he's feeling better I'll make it up to him, and now I owe you an apology for this mess. Did he talk to you about last night at all?" Joe waited for her reply; certain she knew nothing about him leaving the car.

"Not really. I wasn't home yet when he got here since I was working late, and then with the stair this morning-"

"Wait, that's twice with the stair thing. What's that got to do with anything?"

Now Callie was thoroughly confused. "Did Frank tell you what happened, Joe?"

Joe shrugged. What happened was obvious. He left his job for a few hours of fun and his brother paid for it. "Not the details, no. He tried, actually, but I was a little anxious about him being hurt and I guess I didn't let him get a word in edgewise at first. Finally he just started asking for stuff."

Callie snickered before she could help herself. "You two never jump to conclusions with a case, but when it comes to each other… Ask my beloved husband about the stairs this morning."

Joe fired a glare across the kitchen. "This doesn't seem all that funny to me. I screwed up last night, Cal. And Frank was in no shape to have anything to do with stairs this morning."

"Oh, yes, he was." She watched the light bulb in Joe's head click on.

"Wait... Was Frank fine when he got home last night?"

"As far as I know." Callie cast an indulgent smile toward the living room. "He was asleep when I got here, but he looked fine when I crawled in bed. I didn't wake him since we were planning on an early morning."

"Early morning to do what?" Joe was flat out suspicious now.

"To clean out the garage. I boxed up everything I wanted to keep and asked Frank to move it to the attic. Of course the top step on those pull down attic stairs is rotten, has been since we bought the place. I reminded him to fix it first, or at least carry things one at time so they wouldn't be so heavy, but strongman over there had to heft it all in one trip so he wouldn't miss a minute of ESPN. And all these years I thought you were the sports nut. Anyway, I'm sorry he's hurt, but there was no way that step was going to hold all that junk and Frank."

"Hold on – Frank hurt himself on a stair tread?" Joe sputtered.

"Yeah. You thought this happened from work?" Callie's kitchen now made a lot more sense.

"Callie, I've been kicking myself and apologizing for an hour." Joe's face began to flush beneath the powder coat of smudged flour. "And he never…"

"Hey, you did say you didn't let him finish telling you what happened." Callie wasn't convinced Joe saw the humor value in this just yet, and no matter how he got hurt, she thought her husband might need a little defending. "Joe? Ah, what are you doing? Joe? Joe?"

Joe ignored the petite blonde, snagging a bowl off the strewn counter. A cup of cold chicken broth went in the bottom, followed by the okra and a handful of raw rice. Callie trailed him as he shoved back toward the front of the house.

Frank looked up as a suddenly irritable little brother rounded the end of the furniture. "J-Joe?"

The bowl upended, dumping its contents before settling nicely as a hat over dripping brown locks. Joe turned on his heel, calling a comment over his shoulder. "Lunch is served!"

Finis


End file.
